Sparrow Rising
by Tobi is a good boy
Summary: following Regulus Black as he struggles through the first three years of Hogwarts, tries to accomplish his parents' wishes, and to find himself. LuciusxRegulus. Slash.
1. Chapter 1

A Fall of A Sparrow

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Harry Potter or the works of J.

Part One: Sparrow Rising

Chapter One.

From the very beginning, from the moment I was conceived, Mother and Father had my entire life mapped out for me. As the second son, I was honour, nay duty bound as a member of a prestigious pure-blood house to follow Tradition.

These 'Traditions' would mean I would be nothing more than a human bargaining chip, a mere glimmer on the Noble History of the House of Black, a thing to gain my parents more prestige than they deserved, more things to brag about to those they called 'friends.' I would hardly be surprised if Mother and Father already arranged my marriage to some obscure cousin or niece. Not once, in my entire life, did they do the things which I supposed _normal _parents did, parents who were not obsessed by the need, if possible, to only have pure-blood families in Britain. They never did things which, I supposed normal parents did-smiles, or a small glance, or even a tilt of the head-to say they were proud of me, the second son, the forgotten son.

I must add that normal parents did not _plot_ or _bribe _house elves to spy on their eldest son while he went to school. Nor did normal parents lock up that same son in a cellar when he questioned the stiff, rigid ideologies of Tradition that had so en-captured the House of Black in its claws for generations.

Instead, my parents gave me the scathing glares and sneers they gave to Kreacher on a daily basis. I,like Kreacher, was nothing more than a useless thing which lay in a drawer forgotten until 'Hey Presto! Here's this person in here, let's marry them off!' Through the bars of Tradition, my parents choose to see the world around them like a doll's house, with them controlling the doll's lives, throwing them to the side on they had no more use for that doll.

On the whole, the entire situation was not helped that I, unlike my brother, showed absolutely no aptitude for magic at all.

Not one scrap.

As I approach the age of nine-the age Sirius's powers started to show-my parents scrutinized my every move, looking for any hint of magical outbursts. Despite all their attentions, not one bit of magic could be found in me. Mother and Father, despondent gave up all hope, believing I must be a ...the dreaded word in pure-blood families...the 'S' word...a Squib.

"What should happen if he's a ... Squib?" whispered Mother loudly, in nasal urgency. She was sitting in parlor, smoke from Uncle Alphard's cigar clouding the room with its cloying scent.

"Nonsense," chuckled Uncle Alphard, waving an expansive hand, "he's just a slow sprouter, I mean look at him, the scrawny thing."

Indeed, at that time, I was unusually scrawny and small for a boy of my age, with dark hazel eyes of a hunted beast. Father snorts, drawing out his own cigar.

"That's what happens these days," Father makes a disgusted face, "Our blood...pure with magic becomes watered down...until we get _things_ like _him_.  
Order should be restored."

They believe I was not listening, even though I was sitting on a sofa opposite them, dressed in my stifling suit, studiously observing a book on propriety. I hid behind my book, unwilling for them to see my shame and ridicule them further. Or how I was beginning to feel jealous of Sirius, who pranced around the hose, skipping with joy when he got what he called his 'ticket out of this place', his letter to Sirius came to his powers, it would not stop raining sweets for days.

"Yes, but then we would be without these marvelous inventions of the Muggles have created. Have you seen those things called _wellyvisions_?"Uncle Alphard replied, his usual eccentric self. His keen eyes pierced into mine. I quickly hastened to hide behind my book, again.

"What do your read, Regulus?" Mother asks, trying to turn the tide of the conversation back to her,her,her.

"A book on propriety and order, Mother. It is most gratifying," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Mother, sadly, cannot sift through sarcasm, as she haves the mental capacity of a fly, or perhaps, more aptly, a Black Widow spider awaiting to pounce. She grimly smiles at me, her teeth sharp and yellow and fanged,

"May I be excused?" I asked, in the politest voice I knew.

"You may," Father says, waving his hand with the cigar in an annoyed, ushering motion.I made to move, just as I was heading towards the door, Father's droning voice talking to Uncle Alphard reaches my ears.

"Warbulga and I have no idea what we shall do with it, if it turns out to be _Non-Magius-Homon_."

It would take an idiot not realize that they were talking about me, about it, about Regulus Black, assumed Sqiub.

At night, in the safety of Sirius's bedroom, safe from prying parents. A sliver of moonlight falls on Sirius's exicted,hopeful face as he whispers to me his 'grand plan.'

"It's alright," his voice a quiet rustle, "I'll sneak you into Hogwarts and you can live there. With me!" As usual, my brother's un-Black bravado amazes me, but falls short of being an ultimate 'grand plan.' I murmured some reply I no longer remember, but Sirius is appeased and falls asleep, as do I.

Suddenly, I awake. The clock in Sirius's room reads a quarter past four in the morning. My throat burns, dry and parched as if I had not drunken in the thought of water, and of drink, my throat itches and burns more. I threw the covers off my body and tip-toed to the bathroom, swaying slightly, unsteady in the avoiding the squeaky floor boards(I had years worth of practice-secret raids in the kitchen for midnight snacks, rescuing Sirius from the cellar) I came into the bathroom, wrenching the door open. As soon as my feet touched the floor, the taps swirled, gushing out water. A thunderous sound of water resounded throughout the house. I jumped back in surprise, cautiously touching the water.  
It was ice cold.

"What is that din?" demanded Mother, screeching above the sound of the water. I hear her advance, pounding down the hallway, floorboards screaming in protest. She sees me standing in the doorway, in my pajamas, a small, scrawny boy eyes wide and surprised. She sighs heavily, used to dealing with my brother's trouble making antics.

"Regulus, why have you turned on all the taps in house?"

I shake my head, almost lost for words.  
"I didn't turn them on! They came on by themselves!" I croak, my throat cracking.

Mother snorts, disbelieving, "That's ridiculous," and tries to turn the taps off. They stay, stubbornly, on. "Make it stop!" she screeches at me, orders me.

Stop, please, I think and the water stands frozen in time, stopped in mid turns, her eyes bulging, shocked, incredulous look to her spider-like face.

"Clean it up," she sneers sharply and barges back to her lair form whence she came form. At my order the taps turn off. I cannot help but let, in the first time for a long time, a wicked lovely grin on my face that is so characteristic of a Black.

Maybe, I think, I will be a cleaning wizard. As soon as I think this absurd thought, another rams its way in, the whispering sneering voice of Mother: A Cleaning Wizard? That position is not worthy enough for a Black. The joy I had felt earlier succumbs back into the suffocating pressure to be a prefect son. I head to bed, into an uneasy sleep, turning over in my perturbed dreams.

Next thing I remember, clamped tight in my memory is the image of Sirius' retreating back, heading towards the bright red Hogwarts train, heading towards gracious freedom. We, Father and I stand in our stiff, matching suits, an island of silence amidst the bustling, chattering tidal wave of people crowding the Platform of Nine and Three I can think of, at that moment-the moment Sirius walks away from me-is how I am going to survive through an entire year without the feisty, courageous spirit of my older brother. The whole time, Father watches Sirius's departure with cold, impassive eyes.

"Let's go," he said, in his cold, short way. I glanced back to the train-which had not moved an inch from the platform-students were still getting on waving (in some cases tearful) goodbyes.

"Father, should we not wait-" I begin to protest, but Father grabs my shoulder firmly, tearing me away from my brother, from the massive tidal wave of parents on the platform, from the magnificent red Howgarts train.

If I was my brother, I would have definitely broke free of my Father's grip, despite all the punishments that would result from the action(my ears being boxed, no meals for causing a 'ruckus in public'), I would have run back to the train, I would have hugged my brother, wished him luck. I however, was not my brother. I hold back the tears that threaten to fall from my eyes. Father was not in the least disturbed by my distress or my dilemma. He was the type of man who believed children should not be seen nor heard, the type of man who took tears as a sin of cowardice. I do not want Father to take me for more of coward than I felt I was, that they knew, I knew I was.

We arrive back at the House by Side-Along Apparition my ears ringing from the sensation. Mother sits on the couch, prim in her green dress, aiming for the look of a regal queen, but ends up looking even more like a fat spider awaiting her prey on her stands behind Mother, his hand on her shoulder, the picture of a perfect couple. He motions me, with a slight, silent, short gesture to sit down. I sit down in one of the armchairs facing the sofa. Under my parents gaze, I get a feeling of dread of suspense.

"As you know," Father begins ,"Sirius has left for Hogwarts where you will also join him." He pauses, only to light a cigar. Smoke wafts upwards form his cigar. "While he is gone I expect you to be on your best behavior during that time."

"Of course, Father," I murmur, obediently, subserviently.

"And you are to complete your work-"

"To the highest degree possible. And in good order," I say as Father had given many speeches on the same theme.

"Your Mother wishes to tell you something," Father waves his hand over to Mother, "Warbulga, dearest?" Somehow that sentence, atrocious catastrophe for the English language, managed to sound loving.

Please, I begged any God, all the gods I knew, let her not be pregnant. Another Black child in this world-dear god, dear gods, the poor thing, it would come out pampered to extremes as all our, I mean my parent's aspirations had been fulfilled by the first son and me, the second son-would be disaster.

"The 'ladies' and I are hosting a ball this Chirstmas and you and Kreacher shall help us plan for it!"

To explain-The 'ladies' were a rag-tag group of Pure-blood women who gossiped, plotted, and arranged marriages between their sons, trying to gain the most advantageous alliance.

"I look forward to it," I reply, numbly, my sense of fear washing away, replaced by sheer relief. Father waved his cigar at me.

"You may leave us, Regulus."

Gratefully, I rushed out, tugging at the stiff, starch neck of my t-shirt's collar, undid my morbidly black jacket and threw them onto my bed, sinking into the comfort of the mattress, closing my eyes, for a second, for a minute. One day, I thought grimly, Father, you shall be proud of me, no matter how many days, years, ages it takes for me to do so.

It was absolute hell without my brother.

Dressed in my prim black suit, a prefect miniature of my father hair tediously combed back into place, I stood at the side of the "'Ladies' Christmas Gala." Lucius, my cousin, who was the same age as Sirius(more or less) hissed in my ear, causing me to jump backwards in surpise.

"You're nothing but a Squib, or so my mother says."

"Well," I hiss back, "you shouldn't listen to everything your mother tells you."

Lucius roars with laughter, his blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, or as my mother called them 'horse-tails.' I, however, highly doubted she ever saw or knew what a horse looked like.

"You don't deny it then?"

Resolute silence replies.

Only the sound of the band, people making orderly small talk, arranging marriages, the usual in Pure-blood Uncle Alphard seemed to not be joining in the quite reverlly, preferring, as was his wont, to watch from the sidelines, smoking a cigar. I hasten over to him to escape Malfoy's accusation.

"Not dancing, boy?" he asks, though the 'boy' is much more friendlier than Father's. I shake my head. Uncle Alphard snorts, "Go away with you, then!" And gently, he pushed me away form his vicinity. Using this opportunity to escape, I made my way through the throng of people to the safety of my bedroom. No one(luckly) noticed my departure from the 'delightful Galla,' for I was the invisible, the forgotten and forsaken son.

I breathe in relief, closing my bedroom door behind me, to the welcoming site of my messy bedroom, to the window overlooking(or should I say under-looked?)by the moon, hanging by an invisible threads in the company of the stars.


	2. Chapter 2

A fall of a Sparrow

Tobi is a good boy

I do not own Harry Potter or any of the works of JK Rowling

Chapter Two

* * *

Here we are again, Father and I, standing on a crowded platform an island of silence and snobbery. Aloof from the rabble (as Father tended to call them) surrounding us. Father's black, empty eyes look elsewhere, as if he could not look at me, his small, frightened second son.

He does not offer me his hand, a pat, or even a hug. He leaves me alone on the platform, lost in the throng of people giving me a cold push towards the cherry red Hogwarts train. Left alone, I search for any sign of my older brother.

The platform is Sirius free.

However, it is not free of the painful reminders -families and friends parting, greeting each other with a joy that I have never known- that I am, entirely, utterly alone.

Sighing, heart feeling heavy, I made my way to find an compartment that would be Lucius-free and that at least would not be a another painful reminder that I, Regulus Black, was completely alone, forgotten and ignored by his family, and without friends, without anyone.

Near the end of the train, I happen to find a compartment that is slightly occupied by two rather friendly looking first-years like myself (I could tell by the hungry excitement on their faces, as well that they were smaller than the rest of the students) I slide open the glass door, gathering the scraps of my courage.

"Umm, is it, umm okay to, umm, sit here?" I ask timidly.

"Sure!" the white-haired boy says, dressed in trousers tucked into a colorful Indian looking shirt. His accent is twangy, almost friendly matching his dark blue eyes. He makes room for me beside him. I sit, nervously shifting.

"I'm Regulus Black," I say, aiming for the first time in my life to be friendly, a word or thing hardly seen nor heard in the Black House unless it was talking about the friendly attributes of Muggles (by which they meant the annoying, meddlesome attributes of Muggles).

"Jane Mullham," replies the other first year, a girl. She has a curly black hair with flowery clips, obviously there to pin down the curls into place. Jane wears a flowery dress and butterfly earrings.

The white haired one, drawls, "Eoin Adams."

A huge screech resounds through the train as it begins to lumber, slowly, to move out of the station, Eoin and Jane waving to (obviously) their parents on the crowded platform. I, despite knowing Father had left the platform, peer to look, to see if maybe Father might have stayed.

He did not.

I slump further into my seat, feeling slightly jealous of Jane and Eoin. As the train gains speed, and the crowd of parents becoming matchsticks, Eoin and Jane break away from the window. The three of us fall into easy, friendly conversation that does not, for me, at least have the association of punishment or to gain information for mother. For the first time in my life, I feel I feel welcomed, not invisible, but part of something.

Midway through the journey, the glass door to our compartment screeches open. My cousin, Lucius Malfoy and two of cretins peer in. Lucius Malfoy's blonde hair is loose, a pale knife, framing his arrogant sneering face.

"Look, "says Lucius in his usual nasal snobbish voice, "It's Black's ickle little brother."

The cretins behind Lucius snicker, their faces like two little piggies that went overboard at the market. Lucius strides into the compartment, nose in the air, his blonde hair perfectly parted.

"My, my, I am surprised they even let you into Hogwarts. Your mother told mine that you're Squib," Lucius leered into my face.

"My, my, I am surprised they let you into Hogwarts as well, with you not be able to see past your own nose," I retorted, my own voice imitating Lucius' to a tea.

Lucius's pale face twists in outrage, and he grabs the front of my shirt, hoisting me into the air. Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the small compartment goes icily cold.

A wand, no, two wands appear at Lucius's pale throat.

"Let him go", snarls Eoin, his voice as cold as the atmosphere in the compartment.

Lucius snorted arrogant as ever but, did not drop me, or even loosen his grip. In his usual snobbish manner, he commented, lightly, "Two first years against three third years, I think not."

Despite Lucius' grip on me, I managed to sneak my wand out of my pocket and aimed its tip towards the area of his 'socks'. Under my breath, I whispered a spell. Immediately, Lucius pale face seemed to lose all color. He dropped me gruffly on the ground, howling in pain, and scampered out of the compartment followed by the two cretins who sent death glares aimed at me. After they were out of earshot, the three of us laughed in relief.

"What spell was that?" asked Jane, curious.

I grin at her, "A massive wedgie."

Jane giggles and Eoin offers me a pat on the back, chuckling. This is what it's like, I think, to have friends.

The train slowly came to a halt. I look out of the window of our compartment, only to see the dark night sky peer back at me, just as curious as I am.

"We're here!" squeals Jane, her robes hastily thrown on, trying to arrange her tie in the proper fashion, but ending up knotting it. The white haired boy, Eoin, has also changed into his own robes, his Hogwarts tie somehow a bow tie. I peak a glance at myself in the window. A rather small, pale boy with dark hazel eyes, cheeks flushed with excitement, and short black hair standing at ends grins excitedly back at me.

"Come on" Eoin pulls on my arm, dragging me out of our compartment, out of the train onto the hectic platform filled with a dizzying array of students. Cool night air brushes my cheek, as if to welcome me. We swirl in the mass of students who are chattering excitedly around us.

"First years'!" booms a loud voice over the chattering throng of students. Finally, Eoin and I break free of the mass of milling students and into a-semi-circle of curious, yet frightened first years like us gathered in front of a massive man.

"All right are ye all here?" he asks good naturedly, his voice just as large as he is. The semi-circle of first years shyly mumble 'yes', scared as to what would happen next.

"Follo' me then." The man lumbered forward in the dark night, leaving us to scamper behind him. In a few minutes we reached a clear lake on which reflected stars floated eerily.

"Get in, you lot," yelled the massive man, herding us into boats in groups of four. Jane, Eoin and I were in the boat with another rather nervous looking boy with pudgy cheeks. Once all the first years had gotten into a boat, the boats began effortlessly gliding across the lake. Suddenly, an awed silence filled the quiet night air.

Turning, for the first time, I saw Hogwarts. It stood prominently, majestically, magnificently; it was all I had imagined and more. There was only one word to attempt to describe it Hogwarts.

Tall spires seemed to touch the sky, touch the stars themselves, flags of the Houses - Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Huffelpuff - flying proudly from their respective towers, lights glowing from every window. The boats glided until they reached a wooden dock.

"Everyon'e off," ordered the huge man and we hastened to obey him. But is seemed, when we were done, many had lost something-a hair band, a toad, even a shoe. It came to a point, where the massive man scowled down at us and said in his gruff voice:

"Right you lot, we're goin'."

And with that, we traipsed behind the large man on a small path, heading towards the warmth of the enormous castle which loomed above all our heads. The man raised a first to the huge wooden door. It swung open on its hinges after the third knock, in the darkness behind it, a tall woman. She was thin, with sharp black eyes beneath spectacles, with her black hair tied back into a prim bun. She peered down at us sternly.

"This way, first years" she said, waving us in with a long hand. We followed her cautiously into hallway, which was lit by torches. We filed into the hallway, crowding it, packed into little tribes of students.

"I am Professor McGongall and I am the Head of Gryffindor House. I will be teaching you the art of Transfiguration." McGonall then proceeded, airily emphasizing on certain words - you could tell she was proud of her privileged position. She had an air of authority about her. My mind, as I am sure many of my peers did, drifted off into a daze. After what seemed hours, McGongall finally said, in her sharp, clear voice:

"Please line up in pairs." We shuffled - as best we could - into a line with me beside Eoin.

The doors into the Hall swung open. McGongall strode in, with us trailing behind, wonder-struck. The Hall itself was enormous, packed with students sitting at four long tables. Floating candles hung suspended above the tables and a ceiling which echoed the night sky outside. I searched the Gryffindor table for my brother, who gave me a huge, mischievous wink as I passed him. Nervously, I winked back at him.

Suddenly, a silence came upon the Hall, descending as McGongall brought a three legged stool to the centre of the Hall, clacking on the flagstone floor as she placed it down. Gently, she set an old, battered hat upon the stool. To my surprise (and my horror) it opened its' mouth and began to sing in a raspy, deep voice:

_"Long ago there were four friends true_

_Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff_

_Gryffindor brave and true_

_Slytherin cunning and sly_

_Hufflepuff a friend to all_

_Ravenclaw clever and witty_

_Here I am, friends_

_An Old Hat_

_You may call me_

_The Sorting Hat_

_Which house shall I sort you in?_

_Fearless Gryffindor or_

_Hufflepuff, the jolly bunch_

_Secretive Slytherin or_

_Perhaps Ravenclaw is the house for you?"_

McGongall unrolled a long parchment scroll and in her brisk, commanding voice, called names aloud from it.

"Adams, Eoin," she called. The white haired beside me strode towards the stool in a confident, calm manner. McGongall deftly lifted the Hat, and even before the tattered hat touched his snow-white locks, the Hat roared: "RAVENCLAW!

The table, decorated in blue and silver, at the far end of the Hall erupted into a cheer. Eoin walked, no glided, over to that table, a huge grin written on upon his face. He gave Jane and I a thumbs-up gesture as he sat down at the table.

I waited patiently for my name to be called. Waiting. Waiting. Mcgonall had called what seemed to be every other name but mine, "Black, Regulus!"

The Hall descends into a slow-motion silence. I timidly made my way, forward, my heart beating faster. And faster. Mcgonall unceremoniously plopped the Hat on my head.

A voice, like the twitch of dry leaves in the wind, seductive and low, whispers in my ear:  
"Ravenclaw would be good...you'd do well there..." Hope to be shattered-by the cat calls of Lucius, Mother, and Father. You are not a Black, they seemed to say. I'm sorry, if this is what I must do, so be it. The Hat seemed to consider this, tutted and finally in a resigned voice, to my ears only, "So mote be it." To the Hall, the Hat shouted out in a clear, horrible voice:  
"SLYTHERIN!"

I looked up. Saw the disappointment on my brother's face, Eoin's hopeful face fall, Jane's own fearful. I took of the Hat, a sleep walker. I made my way, slowly, to the table decorated in the colors of green and silver. My own face, I was sure, was the grimace of those who were marching towards their deaths-my own death, at the hands of Slytherin. The Slytherins' especially Lucius' crowds sneers at me golf-clapping with faked smiles that matched their fake souls.

Finally,"Mullham, Jane," was called Jane approached the stool, McGongall placing the Hat upon her head. After of few seconds of deliberation, the Hat declared: "HUFFLEPUFF!"The Hufflepuff table, the table separating the Slytherins form the Gryffindors exploded into a deafening cheer-as Jane was the first to be sorted into that House.

All too soon, the sorting was over and the feast too, ended too soon. "Prefects! Lead way our first years to their dorms! The Slytherin prefects, to my dismay, grinned in a positively evil manner at each other.

"All right, shrimpy First Years this way-" And the Slytherin prefects stalked away, leaving us-the rather terrified first years to trail behind them. The prefects 'led' us through a maze of passageways, to what I presumed was the dungeons.

We approached a perfectly normal looking castle-wall. The prefects gestured to towards the wall.

"Make sure you remember the password-" said one.

"-Otherwise, you'll be left outside-" completed the other.

"The password is Basilisk!" exclaimed the pair, and the wall, slid back with a s-h sound. We entered the common room, cautiously, which had a weird glow of green from the green lamps and the small, thin windows with tinted green glass. The fire flicked and three leather sofas were already occupied, to my utter disdain, by Lucius and Company.

"Alright!" said the first prefect, "they are-" he counted us, "Twenty-two (you must be joking) of you (midgets) and twenty-one beds (Oh dear)! Chip-chop!"

Chaos ensued as we ran like headless chickens, to the amusement of the older students, each of us trying to claim a bed. There were none left-all were already taken. I went back, shamefully, to the common room. The prefect's tutted as I approached them, summoning my trunk with a spell. It banged onto the carpeted green floor.

"Shame," the first prefect muttered under his breath.

"You'll just have to-"began the second, and glanced at the first.

"In the common room. Or the supply closet' he added. He pointed to a green door I had not noticed in my search for a free bed. Upon the door there was large note:

Enter at OWN risk Floods Easily HEAD OF HOUSE-PROF. SLUGHORN

"I'll risk it" said I, for what I knew to be my best snobbish manner. I picked my trunk by the handle and dragged my heavy, large trunk into the closet. It was dank, with a large dirty window covered by metal bars. Like a prison, I thought, rather morbidly. To one side of the room there was a camp-bed mattress.

"With a hole in it," I complained aloud... My breath came out in a cold steam. On the other side, was a broken desk, a stack of stools, and a filing cabinet. Water sloshed around my feet on the flagstone floor.

This, I began to feel, was a room for the lost, the disused. Just how I felt. I managed to utter a spiel Mother used to clean spills-the water evaporated. From the outside, I head the outraged shrieks of the prefects as water poured on top of them. I grinned. Pushed my trunk behind the door to prevent any unwanted incomers(including Malfoy). I sunk onto the floor, ignoring the cold, hard flagstones. And fell into a pained but blissful sleep.

At last.


End file.
